


By George

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Post War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Eternity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-23
Updated: 2006-07-23
Packaged: 2018-10-27 01:34:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10798980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: One wedding, two friends with enough passion for one another  to burn for an eternity and one of our favorite prankster brothers to light the  fire. By George, Ron may actually make a move!





	By George

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes:

: Many thanks to my beta DeadlyNightshade! It’s amazing how many little things you can miss even after reading and revising a story more than a half dozen times! You’re the best!!

* * *

That’s what it was. Period! 

  

Whoever it was that had thought up the whole concept of weddings was out of their bloody mind. Ron had quickly concluded that it had to be some loony witch because there was no way a bloke would willingly choose to put himself through such torture.

  

It was bad enough that one had to wear dress robes to such a function. Of course, after the whole Yule Ball humiliation and those ghastly second-hand robes that he was forced to wear, who could blame Ron for wanting to hide in the bushes with the gnomes when his mother informed him that dress robes were required…no arguments! It was only a small blessing that the dress robes the twins had unexpectedly given Ron the summer before his fifth year were able to be magically altered to fit his now longer and broader frame. At least he wouldn’t look like a total ponce.

  

The other rub of this whole disaster called a wedding was that formal wear was required of not only the wizards, but the witches as well. When Ron had seen Hermione in her dress robes back in fourth year, there was no denying that she was a girl. Even though her robes were modest, they were still elegant and very girlie. When Ron had opened his bedroom door earlier this afternoon after a timid knock and found Hermione standing on the other side, there was no denying that the girl that had been the object of many of his fantasies when he pulled his bed curtains closed at night was now a woman. 

  

Although, they wouldn’t be considered inappropriate, the robes she wore were far from modest. Ron was torn between thanking the gods for low cut, cleavage-showing dress robes or completely cursing their existence. Anyway, he had told the witch that had been sent to fetch him that he’d be right down before promptly closing the door in her face and proceeding to have a quick wank in hopes of calming down his overacting body for the rest of the day.

  

Then, of course, there was the fact that his brother was marrying a witch that was part Veela and nearly impossible to resist drooling over. Not to mention that his soon-to-be sister-in-law had a much younger, part Veela sister who had decided that she wanted a Weasley of her own and had set her sights on snagging Ron. Naturally, Ron, being the weak-willed prat that he is, had been more than willing to drool and fawn all over the young blonde, much to the dismay of his entire family, Harry and an unsuspecting Hermione. Needless to say, Ron took to spending much time in his room away from the temptation to make a complete fool of himself, which only succeeded in hurting his relationship, whatever it may be, with the girl-turned-woman that he’d known since he was eleven.

  

And what seemed to be the icing on the top of this damned cake was that apparently weddings, even in times of war, weren’t just family affairs. No, his brother and his bloody bride had taken it upon themselves to invite old friends. For Bill this meant inviting his best mate from Hogwarts, Paras Patil, who just happened to bring his little sister’s best friend whom had just had her heart broken by some “insensitive twit” as his date. For Fleur this meant inviting her famous, Quidditch-playing friend whom she hadn’t seen in nearly two years. Ron couldn’t decide who he had felt more nauseated at seeing in the crowd at the wedding: Lavender Brown or Viktor Krum.

  

So, now, Ron was alone in the darkest corner of the tent set up for the wedding reception, hiding from the girl that was pursuing him and the witch that would just as soon hex his bits off as look at him, while he watched the woman he’d wanted for longer than he could remember but hadn’t the foggiest idea as to how to pursue cycle through dance partners.

  

Yeah, weddings are bloody stupid!!

  **************   

Frustrating!

  

Absolutely, positively frustrating. That was what Ronald Weasley was. Period.

  

Hermione was well aware of this fact, of course. She had been since the whole Crookshanks-Scabbers fiasco in third year. However, nothing they had gone through in the past had held a candle to the frustrating mess their friendship had been this last year, but Hermione had thought that after the past few weeks they had moved beyond the awkwardness. Nevertheless, Ron was back to being his frustrating self.

  

Hermione wasn’t dense. She knew that they both had done some pretty stupid stuff this past year; Ron more so than herself, but that was neither here nor there. She also knew that after the poisoning incident and her late-night, heart-felt conversation in the Infirmary with Ron a few days after his birthday and subsequent breakup with Lavender, that a new door had been opened in their relationship and it was just up to the two of them to make the journey through it together. However, tragedy had struck and their mini-drama didn’t seem so important until he had held her at Dumbledore’s funeral. She had thought that such a simple act was all the catalyst they needed to get things moving in the right direction. Finally.

  

Nonetheless that hope was squashed when Hermione had arrived at the Burrow a few days ago to aid in the preparations for the eldest Weasley son’s wedding. What she found was a Ron who was either drooling all over Fleur’s younger sister (whom just happened to be six years younger than him) or hiding out in his room doing only Merlin knows what. What it boiled down to was that he seemed to have no interest in her, whatsoever!

  

That was a fact that he had made blatantly apparent when Mrs. Weasley had ordered her earlier that afternoon to “retrieve Ronald from that blasted room of his.” Hermione knew that she wasn’t pretty. She could ramble off an extremely long list of flaws. She also knew that there was no way that she could compete with all the part-veelas running around in the Burrow’s garden and kitchen, including the _child_ whom he’d been drooling over for the past three days. However, when Ginny had helped her with the last bits of _Glamour Charms_ to give her cheeks and lips a bit of color and tame her hair, and she had slipped on the flowing, low-cut, sapphire blue dress robes, Hermione had hoped that maybe she could get Ron to take notice of the _woman_ who was one of his best friends. Instead he had quickly dismissed her with a choked response that he’d be right down before shutting the door in her face.

  

It had taken all of Hermione’s strength not to burst into tears in that moment as well as when he avoided her after he did finally make it downstairs to help with the last minute preparations. She also fought back the tears when he refused to make eye contact with her when the two of them along Harry, the twins, and Fred’s date, Angelina Johnson had set down for the meal served at the wedding reception. She was thankful for Harry when he suggested as soon as the French orchestra started playing that they get a dance in before she was bombarded with dance offers the rest of the evening. Hermione didn’t miss the pointed look that Harry gave his best mate, nor did she miss the way Ronald had completely ignored it.

  

That had been about an hour ago, and Hermione could’ve chuckled at Harry’s preciseness when he said that she would be bombarded with dance offers. It was during the second song that she had convinced Harry that he needed to make amends with Ginny, at least for the evening, and ask her to dance. She was surprised when he agreed so easily and then handed her off to a waiting Viktor Krum whom she danced with for the remainder of the second song and all of the third. Even in the darkness of the corner where their table was situated, Hermione could see Ron seething with anger.

  

From there she had danced with Mr. Weasley, Bill, Harry again so that he could thank her for making him talk things over with Ginny, the Patil twins’ older brother which earned her yet another of many death glares from Lavender Brown, Viktor again because his very pregnant wife couldn’t do much dancing and he wanted to bid Hermione a good evening before they departed, and finally George, who Hermione was a bit reluctant to dance with at first, but he was proving to be a good partner. Hermione let out a long sigh when she realized that she should be enjoying herself, but all she could think about was the sulking sod sitting in the shadows not even twenty meters away.

  

“Frustrating, isn’t it?”

  

Hermione was pulled from her reverie by her dance partner voicing her exact thoughts. She just gave George a weak smile before she focused on an invisible spot on his shoulder. She was a little surprised when he leaned in closer so that his mouth was very near her ear.

  

“He’s an arse, but you know that don’t you?” Hermione answered in her head but he’d continued before she had made up her mind to voice it. “But you realize that he’s _your_ arse, right?”

  

Hermione pulled back to look at George with a furrowed brow. She couldn’t help wonder if the twin was setting her up for one of the infamous Weasley twin’s pranks. He smiled and chuckled a bit before he leaned back in to speak again.

  

“You see, Ickle Ronniekins has fancied you ever since he discovered that you were a girl, and trust me that was even before the Yule Ball. Even through the disaster with that Brown bint, I could just about bet every Galleon I have on me that you never left his thoughts. The problem with baby brother is two fold: he lacks confidence that he’s good enough for a brilliant witch like you and he lacks the courage to take a leap of faith that maybe he is good enough. Merlin only knows how he ended up in Gryffindor.”

  

It was now, in the arms of a very unlikely source, that the tears began to form in Hermione’s eyes. She wanted to believe what George was telling her. She had longed for someone to say those things to her for so long; to give her hope that all the little signs Ron had given her were not being misread. She felt comforted when the hand that was resting between her hip and the small of her back squeezed a little tighter.

  

“Now, Granger, I’m about to impart some very important wisdom on you, something that I’m sure you already know even if you don’t recognize it. Our little Ronnie is a man of action, but only when provoked. In other words, he needs someone to light some fire under that arse of his to get him to react and take charge of something that he wants. And you happen to be a very lucky witch tonight, because I brought the matches.”

  

Hermione had only a second to register George’s Muggle reference to matches when all thought flew from her mind. All she could register was the feel of hot breath and then warm, smooth lips on her neck and chin stubble on her collarbone. It took about the same amount of time for her to realize what had just happened and to pull back with wide eyes to question him.

  

“What are you doing?” she hissed. She could feel the heat of embarrassment creeping up her neck and across her cheeks, but she wasn’t sure if she was embarrassed by the fact that George had just kissed her neck or by the effect that it had on her. No one had ever kissed her there before, and even though the act itself seemed to be quite innocent, it felt far from it.

  

George just smiled down at her again and turned them so that his back was now facing his brother’s direction. “I’m giving little brother a reason to get up off his backside. Trust me on this one Hermione. He may be willing to stand by and watch some other random bloke claim you, but he won’t think twice of putting up a fight against his own brother and claiming what he feels belongs to him. If any Weasley is to _have_ you, it will be him and he’ll see to it.”

  

Hermione didn’t know if it was the little bit of wine she’d had with the meal or the desperation she felt to have Ron make a move that made her willing to believe what George had to say. She decided quickly to play along, so she ran the hand that was resting on his left shoulder to the back of his neck and let her fingers run through his red locks before applying a little pressure to the back of his neck urging him to continue with the little charade. 

  

He quickly swung them around so that he was now facing Ron’s corner table and Hermione noticed that just before he leaned back down to her ear, his eyes looked in his brother’s direction. She could see a smile in them just before his lips were next to her ear. 

  

George whispered, “That’s the quickest fire I’ve ever lit,” just before he placed a chaste peck on her ear lobe. She then felt the twin’s hot breath on the right side of her neck just as she felt fingers grip her left shoulder followed by a different hot breath on her left ear and an all too familiar voice that growled out its demand.

  

“We need to talk, now!”

  **************   

Ron wasn’t completely dimwitted. He knew that Harry’s comment regarding Hermione being bombarded with dance offers was directed toward him. Although he and Harry had never actually breached the subject of Ron’s feelings toward Hermione, there was definitely an undertone with his best friend that suggested that the dark haired wizard suspected that Ron’s feelings toward their mutual friend was much more than the friendly/sisterly kind that Harry himself felt. But no matter how much he completely understood Harry’s implications, Ron chose to ignore his friend’s insinuation that he, too, should ask the witch to dance and quickly became very interested in his Ogden’s Old Firewhisky.

  

Ron had assumed that Hermione and Harry would simply dance one dance and then would return to join him at their secluded table so that they could finalize their plans for the Horcrux search. After all, they were planning on leaving the day after tomorrow, and he knew that above everything else, including some stupid wedding, that Hermione thrived on planning. Therefore, Ron got a bit anxious when the first song ended and Harry and Hermione kept dancing on into the second. Of course, they had been wrapped in conversation, so perhaps they simply didn’t notice the song change.

  

Then halfway through that second song, Ron was mortified when Harry did the unthinkable. He handed Hermione off to Viktor _bloody_ Krum. It took extreme constraint on Ron’s part to keep his composure when the Bulgarian took Hermione in his arms. Ron simply kept chanting in his head that Krum had a wife and a baby on the way and that he really wasn’t interested in Hermione in **_that_** way. Ron’s anger was squashed a bit when he realized that the only time that day that he’d seen a true smile on his friend’s face was when Viktor had taken her and began to glide her across the dance floor. 

  

It broke Ron’s heart that he hadn’t made Hermione smile like that in a long time. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts on how he might be able to change the situation between him and Hermione that he didn’t take much notice of who she was dancing with until he saw his brother George approach her and ask for a dance.

  

The first thing that crossed his mind was, _what the hell?!_

  

The twins, either one of them, had never seemed to particularly care for Hermione, so Ron figured that this had to be part of some cruel joke of theirs. He noticed that Hermione hesitated a bit before she accepted George’s hand, so Ron was a bit happy that at least she was thinking along the same lines as him. Still, she’d accepted and this left Ron battling two voices in his head: one that was saying that his brother better not do anything to hurt Hermione and the other that was saying if he would’ve just gotten off his arse and plucked up the courage to ask her to dance, George wouldn’t be an issue.

  

So Ron sat watching, with gritted teeth, one of his prankster brothers twirling the woman of his dreams gracefully around the dance floor. Eventually, their movements slowed and Ron could see that George was talking to Hermione. He had just started to wonder what they could possibly be talking about when they turned just slightly and Ron could see that she had tears forming in her big brown eyes.

  

Something in Ron snapped, and he was suddenly on his feet and ready to go pummel his brother when George did something that froze Ron in place and halted his thought process before he was even able to step away from the table. In what seemed like slow motion, Ron watched his older brother place an anything but innocent kiss in the crook of Hermione’s bare neck.

  

It took Ron’s brain a moment to start processing again, and it did so with the thought _What the…_ But suddenly he felt like he’d been hit with _Petrificus Totalus_. Hermione had run her fingers through the hair at the base of his brother’s neck and seemed to be pulling his head back down to hers. Hermione was actually encouraging George rather than pushing him away.

  

The act that finally put Ron in motion was when George turned the couple once again so that he was facing Ron and smiled at him. The bloody sod actually _smiled_ at Ron before he started descending to what was surely another kiss.

  

“Oh, hell no!” Ron swore under his breath as he took off toward the dancing pair.

  

Just as his brother had placed a kiss on his Hermione’s ear, Ron growled into her other, “We need to talk, now!” He didn’t even give her a chance to reply or comply before he simply took her by the upper arm and pulled her out of the tent and across the Burrow’s garden to near the edge of the murky pond. He paid no attention to Hermione’s protests or to the stares he received from some of the guests that were milling about the property.

  

When he finally stopped, he dropped her arm as if it had burned him and said, “Bloody hell, Hermione! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  

“Well, excuse me, Ron, but what to do you think _you’re_ doing?”

  

“Oh, no! You are not turning this around on me. I wasn’t the one practically shagging out on the dance floor!”

  

Ron felt his blood start to boil when Hermione started laughing. She was actually laughing at him!

  

“Oh, for goodness sake, Ronald! We were not _‘practically shagging,’_ ” She giggled a bit more.

  

“Okay, maybe not. All I know is one minute George is talking to you and you’re crying and then the next he’s ravishing your neck!” Ron’s voice was actually beginning to squeak with his increasing volume.

  

Hermione let out a long sigh. “Ronald.” Her tone struck yet another nerve. She said his name as if he were a toddler who was insistently claiming that Muggles did not exist.

  

His voice rose yet again when he pressed her on the matter once more. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child, Hermione. Just tell me what you were doing with George!”

  

When her hands went to her hips, Ron knew that she was done finding any humor in the situation. Now her voice seethed with the anger that was apparently building in her. “And exactly why do you care, Ronald?”

  

“Because you’re my friend, Hermione, and I don’t want to watch you traipsing round like some loose little tart.” He knew it was a mistake the minute the words left his mouth, but he always had a knack for saying the absolutely wrong thing.

  

“How dare you!” she screamed at the top of her lungs before she set off toward the house at full speed.

  

It took him a moment but then Ron started after her, shouting, “Hermione, get back here! I’m not done with you.”

  

Her reply was screamed back. “Sod off, Ronald!!”

  

Maybe in years to come, if he’d ever get a chance to see this memory in a Pensieve, he’d laugh at the prim and proper Hermione Granger telling him to sod off. Now, though, it just fueled his anger, and he picked up his pace.

  

He caught her just before she rounded the corner of the house. He grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. His stomach and heart clinched as he saw the tears in her eyes, but he rapidly pushed those feelings aside. 

  

“Don’t run away from me, Hermione!”

 

“Why not?” She sniffled a bit. “Did you think I was actually going to stick around and let you call me names? You of all people have no right to call _me_ a loose tart!”

  

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

  

“Gee, Ron, I don’t know. Maybe we should go find Lavender and she can explain it to you!”

  

“For Merlin’s sake, Hermione. I thought we were past this. Is that what this whole shit with George is about? I fucked up, okay? I’ve already apologized for being such a git this past year, isn’t that enough? Do you really have to go throwing yourself at my brother?”

  

Hermione let out a sound that was a cross between a sob, a strangled cough and a hysterical laugh. Tears now streaming unyielding down her cheeks, Hermione stuck the knife in Ron’s heart. 

  

“Oh my God, Ron. You truly are stupid, aren’t you?” Ron flinched. She’d never, ever called him stupid. She’d called him a lot of things…insufferable, unemotional, clueless…but never stupid. Actually she had spent a lot of time trying to convince him that he wasn’t. Ron didn’t think that one little word would sting so much.  “This has absolutely nothing to do with George and you know it!”

  

“Well apparently I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about, Hermione, because I thought this _was_ absolutely about George and you all over each other. So enlighten me! What the hell is this all about?”

  

Then she gave the knife a twist. 

  

“You, Ron! It’s all about you.” She threw her arms in the air then turned to face the outside wall of the house. Ron was glad that she’d turned around because his mouth was hanging slightly open in shock. Surely she wasn’t saying that Ron drove her into his brother’s arms. That wasn’t possible was it? Of course that little nagging voice in his head kept reminding him that it was her, in essence, that had driven him into Lavender’s waiting arms.

  

“It’s always all about you! And your inability to get off your backside and take a risk that maybe in the end you can get what you want and be happy.” Okay, surely she wasn’t talking about what he thought she was talking about. Did she know how he felt about her? She couldn’t. He’d never given her any clues, had he? He’d always been so careful. But if she was so upset, did that mean that she wanted him to like her? 

  

Ron was startled from his thoughts when she turned quickly and shouted, “For once in our twisted friendship will you just grow some stones and **do** something?” 

  

He did.

  

He grabbed her face and suddenly his lips were crashing against hers.

  **************   

When Ron had growled in her ear that they needed to talk and pulled her away from the reception, a shiver of excitement spread through Hermione’s body. She couldn’t believe that George had been dead on. All Ron needed was a little motivation to get him set in motion. She didn’t know which emotion she should be feeling; she was flooded with so many. 

  

She was a bit agitated that he’d basically manhandled her and dragged her away from her dance partner and the entire reception. Then he demanded that she explain her actions. He even went on to make some pretty ludicrous accusations as to what her and his brother were doing together on the dance floor. She couldn’t help but laugh at how utterly ridiculous he was being, but at the same time she found the fact that he was flustered and obviously jealous quite enduring. He really was grasping at straws to cover up his true feelings.

  

She knew that she got a bit condescending with him, and he called her out on it. She might still have found a bit of humor in the situation if he hadn’t continued to be such a git about the whole thing. She was frustrated that he’d just make up sordid stories about what he thought he saw happening between her and George than actually approach the actual issue at hand. She thought that maybe they’d get somewhere when she asked him why he cared so much, but instead he had crushed her heart when he called her a tart.

  

Oh he had some nerve, that one…calling her, of all people, a tart when he’d spent a better part of the last school year joined at the hip and lips with _The_ tart of the sixth years. She’d had enough. With the one comment, he squashed any hope she had that maybe he’d actually take the opportunity she’d given him by asking why it mattered and make a declaration. Instead he took the opportunity to insult her, to hurt her just like he always managed to do. Well, she wasn’t going to stand there and take it from him.

  

She turned toe and darted back toward the house. He was an insufferable prat, and he’d always be an insufferable prat. She was done with it…with him!

  

Hermione had expected him to yell and protest her retreat, but she hadn’t actually expected him to follow her. She also hadn’t expected to yell an explicative at him as she made her way around the reception tent. For a brief moment, she really hoped that Mrs. Weasley hadn’t heard her. But that thought flew from her mind when a large hand gripped her shoulder and spun her around.

  

Of course, he yelled at her, and, of course, she had yelled back at him. She’d even done the one thing that she’d promised herself since his birthday that she’d never do. She threw Lavender in his face. But it was really his fault. He started by being hateful toward her and calling her names. She thought that maybe he’d catch on, but he didn’t. He still continued to question her about his brother, so finally she basically called him stupid and told him that this row they were having had nothing to do with his brother and everything to do with him.

  

She was beyond the point of being fed up. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to look at him or at the outside wall of the Burrow. She finally gave up all restraint she had and turned quickly, shouting the one thing she’d wanted to say to him so many times, “For once in our twisted friendship will you just grow some stones and do something!” 

  

And he did. He kissed her. He gripped her cheeks almost painfully before his lips crashed against hers. It was nothing like she had imagined in her day dreams of them together, but it was exactly like she knew it would be. It was just like their rows…rough and full of passion. Part of her just knew that one day Ron would finally kiss her. That same part also expected that it would be in the middle of a row when he’d finally just give in and do it.

  

His lips were soft yet demanding. He didn’t wait for permission to thrust his tongue into her mouth, but she didn’t let him dominate the kiss either. She fought back with equal fervor. Her hands went to his hair and his to hers and she was suddenly pressed between him and the house. She gripped his hair tightly in hopes of punishing him for taking his bloody time, but this only caused him to press his body more firmly against hers.

  

Suddenly he broke away and took a step back, gasping for air. When she opened her eyes to look at him, she saw that he was bent over with his hands on his thighs, desperately trying to catch his breath. When he finally looked up at her, he had a devilishly confident and conceited grin spread across his face. Well, that just wouldn’t do. She didn’t want him to think that he had an upper hand in this relationship, wherever it was leading.

  

Suddenly she knew what needed to be done. That grin needed to be taken care of. She quickly brought her right hand up to make contact with his left cheek. It wasn’t meant to hurt him…just to knock that mocking look off his face.

  

“Don’t you think for one minute, Ronald Weasley, that you can…can just give me some…amazing kiss and I’ll just forget what a prat you’ve been!”

 

She felt her resolve not to grin stupidly like some besotted, naïve little girl was slipping away, so she knew that she needed to make her exit. She couldn’t make things too easy for him, after all. He’d taken his sweet time in making the first move; he could put some effort into each move from here on out, at least for a little while.

  

She turned tail and headed into the house and up to Ginny’s room leaving a dumbfounded, but blushing Ron behind. This morning she’d been terrified about the weeks to come and what may or may not happen. Now she knew that at least she had something good to look forward to. She have several weeks to make sure that Ronald Weasley got wrapped around her little finger and that he stayed right there.

  **************   

Ron couldn’t believe that he’d finally done it. But as her fingers gripped his hair and he pushed his body further against hers so that he could feel her soft curves pressed against his firm chest, he’d never been happier at his actions. However, as he felt his body, in particular a certain part of his body, starting to react to the feel of her body pressed against his and started to feel light headed from lack of oxygen, he stepped away gasping to catch his breath.

  

He knew he had to look like an idiot when he finally looked Hermione in the eyes. He couldn’t help it though. He was a smitten fool who’d finally kissed the girl he’d fantasized about ever since he started fantasizing about anyone.

  

He was a little thrown off when she had smacked him across the face. But when she’d used her “bossy” tone with him and basically told him to not get used to using his lips, and tongue for that matter, to settle their battles, he knew that she wasn’t upset with him. Remember, he’d seen her smack Malfoy, and this was nowhere near that action. Hermione could’ve done some damage if she’d truly been upset with him.

  

So, Ron, who really isn’t as clueless as people would like to think that he is, knew that _his_ Hermione just wanted him to think that she had the upper hand. Well, he supposed he could let her think that…for a while at least.

  

As he watched her retreat into the house, he smiled that stupid, sheepish grin because he knew that the next few weeks had just got a little bit better. Now he had a distraction from the horrors that were the looming war. Of course, these battles would be just as hot and powerful, he was sure, but his new battles with Hermione would be so much more pleasurable than they had ever been, and before long, he’d have Hermione just where he wanted her…wrapped around his little finger and unable to live without him.

  

Ron was still smiling as he set off to find George to either kick his arse or thank him…Ron just hadn’t quite decided which one yet.


End file.
